


Breaking Illusion

by Keeper of Tales (CodenameLoki)



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: 25 Days of Dicksmas, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, And that they've talked about it, Angst, Cause he's still p drunk, Christmas, Christmas Smut, Dean is drunk/sobering up, Dean's Past Is A Thing, Drunk Sex, Just assume that this is a thing they've done before, M/M, Seth is sober, Tumblr Prompt, Uninformed Consent, i guess, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 09:59:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2728166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CodenameLoki/pseuds/Keeper%20of%20Tales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean gets arrested for getting into a fight with a Santa at a bar on Christmas Eve. Seth comes to bail him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking Illusion

**Author's Note:**

> This was written based off a prompt the Captain gave me over on tumblr. It's for captainbigdickambrose's 25 Days of Dicksmas ficfest.

This was the last place Seth had ever expected to be on Christmas Eve. It’s too bright, and it echoes, and it smells weird. Someone is crying down the hall. He waits, hands stuffed into the back pockets of his jeans, to be taken back to see Dean. The barred door rattles back, and Seth follows the police officer who motions to him.

Dean’s in the drunk tank, so it’s not like there’s a whole lot of secure lockdown going on back here. It’s twenty after eleven, and everyone in the cop shop is just tired and ready to go home. Seth can sympathize entirely.

One phone call, and Dean of course calls Seth, because Roman’s in Florida and there isn’t anyone else that he can call on Christmas Eve who will actually show up. There was some confusion, mostly due to whiskey-induced shouting about “FUCK SANTA” and “ROMAN”, but Seth had finally managed to parse that Dean had- of course, because Dean is, and always will be, Dean- been arrested. 

On Christmas Eve. 

Their first Christmas together, at their own home.

And Seth is standing in jail, and Dean is actually in jail, and this is not how he’d imagined this evening going.

Seth’s footsteps are loud in the over-bright hall, and he can hear an exuberant conversation going on- something about ears, and the green complimenting them, and why do you work for that fat fuck anyway- and then he’s come level with the large, square cell, and Dean is holding court, over the fifteen or so others in varying states of inebriation.

It takes a few seconds for Dean to notice him; he’s busy conversing with an elf, an actual grown man dressed like an elf, all curly-toed shoes and red circles on the cheeks, with a long pointed green hat, and Dean is gesturing wildly in that way he has, and Seth feels, as usual, a surge of fond exasperation mingled with a deep, abiding love. He clears his throat, and Dean finally sees him. He hops to his feet and scurries over to the bars. 

“Seth! Hi, Seth. Hi.” Dean is glassy-eyed and Seth is frankly surprised he’s even standing, with the amount of whiskey-stink rolling off his person.

“Hi, Dean. You got into some trouble, hey?”

“Maybe a little.” Dean holds up his index finger and thumb, about a half-inch apart. “Tiny bit.”

He’s lucky he’s cute, Seth thinks, because if it were anyone but Dean who had been arrested for getting into a fistfight with a Santa Claus at a bar on Christmas Eve, Seth would probably leave them overnight to think about what they’d done. But this is Dean, who Seth is sure would get into a fistfight with Jesus himself on Christmas Eve, if there was enough alcohol involved, so Seth just turns to the police officer and asks how much his bail is.

It’s $2500, and they won’t take a personal cheque. Seth can get cash, except he’s pretty sure that he can only get a thousand dollars out of an ATM, but they’ll take a credit card, so he hands it over and prays that there’s space on it, because he really doesn’t want to leave Dean here. Not on Christmas.

It clears, and Seth’s ass is still sweating, but that’s alright now, because he just has to wait for them to process the paperwork, and then he can take Dean home and get to the bottom of this.

He’s sitting in the waiting room, tapping his phone against his teeth, and he can still hear Dean down the hall, making friends with the elf- who is, apparently, named Charlie- because of course Dean befriends elves in jail, and Seth wonders, not for the first time, just what exactly he’s gotten himself into, with this man that he’d moved two thousand miles to live with.

 

“So, what exactly possessed you to punch out a guy dressed as Santa?” Seth wants to know, now that Dean’s been released, and is curled up in the passenger seat, leaning against the window. 

Dean makes a noncommittal noise, and Seth shakes his head. “No, you’re gonna tell me. You disappeared earlier, you didn’t answer any of my calls or texts, and then you phone me from jail. I just spent $2500 bailing your ass out on Christmas Eve, I think you owe me an explanation.”

“Need food first,” is all Dean says, so Seth flips on the turn signal and heads for their favourite Korean place. He waits until they’re home and Dean is sucking back kimchi to broach the subject again, and finally Dean comes clean.

“You hate Santa?”

Dean shrugs. He hadn’t expected Seth to understand, but Seth is giving him that “how could you” hurt puppy look, so Dean wedges his cold toes between Seth’s leg and the couch, and attempts to explain.

“Remember when you were little, and actually believed in Santa?” Seth nods. “Well, I believed in Santa until I was eight. I couldn’t understand why he never came to my house, though.” Dean scratches the side of his head and Seth feels his heart turning over, because he knows Dean is going to Tell Him A Story and, knowing Dean, it’ll probably make Seth feel like an ass. Still, he doesn’t stop him, because he wanted an explanation, and clearly, Dean is gearing up to give him one.

“I mean, I knew you had to be good, so I tried to be good, y’know, as well as any kid does. But there were other kids that I knew were just, like, dicks, and Santa came to their house. Okay, so I figured, maybe it’s the lack of chimney, but that fell the fuck apart when I remembered that other kids in my school didn’t have no chimney, and Santa came to their house anyway. Then, I realized we never put out milk and cookies, and maybe that was why. So I held onto the milk from my last school lunch, and I stole some cookies from a store that was like a block from my apartment- it’s not bad if you’re stealin for Santa, right?- and once my mom passed out Christmas Eve, I snuck out of my room and left em out on the counter. Santa didn’t show up that year either. I was six. That was the year I figured out why Santa never came to my house.”

“Because he wasn’t real.”

Dean shook his head. “Because he didn’t like me. Nobody else did, so it made sense that he wouldn’t either, y’know? It wasn’t til I was eight that someone told me he wasn’t real.” He picks at his jeans, still somewhat bleary from all the whiskey earlier, and Seth has no idea what to say. Dean breaks the silence a few moments later.

“It’s stupid, but I’m still… I dunno. Every time I see a Santa, I just remember how it felt to think that the reason he never came to my house was because he didn’t like me. And then that motherfucker tonight kept coming up and asking me why I wasn’t jolly and ho ho hoing in my face and I finally just fuckin decked him. Not everyone likes Christmas, y’know- I don’t, not really, because it just reminds me of the bullshit when I was a kid, and how I ain’t got no one to celebrate it with-”

Seth cuts him off by grabbing him into a kiss, because _fuck that_ , Dean had someone to celebrate with _now_ , and he wasn’t about to let him forget that. Dean lets out a confused “mmph” noise, but his hands are sliding down to creep up Seth’s T-shirt, cold fingers against Seth’s warm skin, and Seth is deepening the kiss, pushing Dean back against the armrest of the couch, and then he becomes aware of Dean’s fingers fumbling at his belt, and he pulls back slightly.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” Dean confirms, as Seth’s belt buckle clicks open and Dean pops the fly of Seth’s jeans open, sliding his cold hand inside, and Seth groans, softly.

“You’re sober enough for this?” he insists, needing confirmation, even as Dean grips him and starts to stroke firmly.

“Mhm.” Dean’s eyes are red-rimmed, but he’s cognizant, so Seth dips his head back down to catch his mouth again, as Dean shoves Seth’s jeans down. “Want this.”

“Alright,” Seth murmurs, kicking his pants off and working his hands between them to divest Dean of his own jeans. He rights himself, and pulls Dean onto his lap. “You gotta help me get you ready, though.”

Dean grins and proceeds to suck the first two fingers of Seth’s right hand into his mouth. He’s always produced more than the recommended daily dose of saliva, and this isn’t the first time he’s applied it this way, to himself or someone else. 

Seth’s fingers are working up inside of him and he bites at his partner’s neck, eliciting a soft hiss. Seth crooks his fingers to stroke against Dean’s prostate, and Dean lets out a little grunt of pleasure. “Just fuck me, Seth.”

“Wanna-” Dean cuts him off with a kiss, but Seth persists as soon as Dean lets him. “Make sure-” Another kiss. “You’re ready-” Another kiss, and Seth gives up. He takes himself in hand and pushes the head of his cock into Dean, a slow, tight burn that makes Dean tilt his head back and moan at the pleasurepainpressure of it, as Seth pushes up, his hips lifting from the couch, and he slides all the way home.

Dean doesn’t give himself time to adjust before he’s rocking his hips, ignoring the sting of it, resting his forearms on Seth’s shoulders as he rides him, catching him in kisses as their hips buck and slide together, the lights of their tiny Christmas tree reflecting from the blond patch in Seth’s hair. 

Dean reaches down for Seth’s hand, pulling it off his own hip and placing it on his cock. Seth can take a hint, and he starts stroking, fast and hard and sloppy, because he knows that Dean wants, needs to get off, needs the reassurance that someone wants him, enjoys being with him. 

“Fuck,” Seth hisses, as Dean bites at his neck again, hard, and there’s going to be a mark there that won’t go away in a hurry, but he’s balls-deep in his lover, having his cock fucked down onto almost frantically, and there’s a throbbing dick in his hand, firm and hard and thick and he really doesn’t care about anything else.

Dean bites down again, and there’s a lot of pain, but Seth can feel warm streaks over the back of his hand, and he can see Dean’s come spotting the T-shirts that they’re both still wearing, and the lights of the tree are playing off the pearly droplets, and then he’s coming too, hard and it feels like the lights have jumped off the tree and they’re sparking behind his eyelids as he shoves up into Dean in a last, deep stroke, Dean’s knees clenched on either side of his hips as he rides Seth through it before collapsing against him, panting and lapping at the bruise he’s left behind on Seth’s neck.

They stay like that for a few minutes, breathing hard, Dean’s hands wound in Seth’s hair, and Seth can’t even protest that it’ll look like a bird’s nest when Dean lets go, because he’s boneless and sticky and content, one hand stroking idly up and down the grey cotton clinging to Dean’s sweaty back.

When he finally finds his voice again, all he can think of to say is,”We are definitely on Santa’s naughty list after _that_.”


End file.
